


Filling A Quota

by lumateranlibrarian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumateranlibrarian/pseuds/lumateranlibrarian
Summary: Finals week: a miscellany of coffee mugs, blanket capes, and a visitor from your local Chantry, here to invite you and your friends to this year’s Wintersend celebration!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for panic attacks. Be safe!

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

Japhra doesn’t move. It’s too damn early in the morning, and she’s only had two sips of the blackest coffee she can brew.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

She lets her head fall backwards, and sighs heavily. “Fine,” she groans, drawing out the word. She cradles her hot mug against her chest, inhaling the fumes in the hopes that she’ll be able to consume the caffeine by scent alone. The mug was a housewarming gift from one of her roommates, in a sideways show of support of her sexuality: in grey, black, and purple lettering is the declaration “Why have SEX when you can have DRAGONS?”

Japhra adores her mug. It is ceramic perfection. She assumes that’s why Bull chose it.

She makes her way to the front of their little townhouse, snagging a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. Right now, she’s the only one awake, both Bull and Dorian sleeping off hangovers. She is all that stands between their tender sensibilities and the waking world, and is in the middle of plotting how to most obnoxiously wake them when she pulls open the door.

She blinks, and stares at the large, winter-coat-covered chest in front of her. A throat clears, and blearily, she looks up.

“Hello. I’m a member of the Chantry, and we’d like to invite you and your friends to the Church for this year’s Wintersend celebration.”

Oh, that’s right. Wintersend. Japhra scrubs at her eyes, and gets a better look at this… Chantry boy... as he continues to ramble. He’s not unappealing. Honestly, he seems to be just Dorian’s type, but she’s not going all the way back up the stairs to wake him up. The man has short, curly blonde hair and a thin but dark scar cutting through the right side of his mouth.

“... I have with me a copy of the Chant of Light…”

Okay, no. Japhra takes a long, searing swallow of coffee, and holds up a hand.

“Look. Thanks, but no thanks. My roommate is a member of the Qun, and my other roommate is a Tevinter Altus. Praise the Ancestors, and have a nice morning!”

And she steps backwards and closes the door on him. Vaguely, Japhra recognizes she should probably feel guilty, but she’s only halfway into her first cup of coffee of the morning. She’s not equipped to handle feelings more sophisticated than “happy” or “no” until she’s had at least three.

 

 

 

The Iron Bull makes it downstairs first, around eleven-thirty in the morning. Japhra’s sitting on the carpet of what counts as their living room, with two textbooks, one notebook, and her laptop all arranged before her. Bull grunts congenially at her, and she waves back absently as he ducks into the kitchen, turning his head mechanically to keep his horns from scratching the doorframe. He’s lived here the longest, and could probably walk the place backwards, blindfolded, and raging drunk if so inclined. She’d been lucky to find him offering rent in a place so close to the university.

“Whazzit this time?” Bull mumbles, going straight for the coffee brewer.

“Estrogens and Androgens,” Japhra answers. She sketches out a chemical formula in her notes, then flips back a few pages in the nearest textbook. She frowns, and corrects her drawing accordingly.

The Iron Bull grunts over the sound of clanking cupware. “Fun.”

“Phosphodiesterase inhibitors are next week,” she croons without looking at him. He doesn’t react, but then again, not many people can name drugs off the top of their head.

A second later, however, a petulant mutter drifts down from the upper floors that sounds suspiciously like “Erectile dysfunction”, so Japhra can’t be entirely sure. The upstairs bathroom door opens and shuts. Dorian must be up, then.

Japhra is studying for her last Pharmacology final of the semester. In the spring, she graduates with her Bachelor’s from the University of Haven. Dorian is busy getting his doctorate from the same university, in magical physics or something ridiculous and way too mathematical for Japhra’s tastes. And as for the Iron Bull? Japhra’s not entirely sure what he does. He’s almost definitely a spy for a foreign nation.

They make an odd trio, but there’s almost always someone’s friend running through the house. Krem Aclassi is an old friend of Bull’s, though he lands somewhere between Japhra and Dorian, agewise. He unironically refers to himself as Bull’s lieutenant, which adds credence to Japhra’s private theory that Bull is ex-military. Dorian’s childhood friend Felix Alexius is constantly traveling from one end of the continent to the other in search of medical treatment for a rare genetic disease, and stops by whenever he’s in the area. As for Japhra, she and her freshman roommate Lace Harding still study together regularly. Japhra’s cousin Lantos also comes down from his place in Jader during the holidays.

Sundays, however, have been wholly claimed by Japhra and Dorian as shut-up-and-study days, which the Iron Bull happily complies to. As the semester comes to a close, it’s hard to tell which one of them is the more neurotic.

Bull soon emerges from the kitchen, looking much more awake with his own mug of black, bitter coffee in hand. The mug itself is grey and rough on the outside, with two artfully-scored horns extending from the sides. He settles on the couch, safely away from Japhra’s nest.

“Was someone here this morning?”

“Chantry recruiter. He offered me a copy of the Chant of Light.”

Bull snorts. “Shoulda carried a Tome of Koslun.”

“Like you buy into that.”

“Hey!”

Bull shoves at her with one huge, slightly clammy foot. She bats at it ineffectively. “Clip your toenails!” she shrieks.

“Nah. I’m going for the dragon look.” Bull waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Japhra groans.

 

 

 

It’s Tuesday morning, a week and a half before Japhra’s final exam. She’s up and about, brimming with caffeine-fueled vigor. Once again, her books are spread before her. There are flashcards scattered on the floor. She’s armed with her second-favorite mug, the outside painted to look like a generic, orange prescription bottle, but the name of the drug is coffee. That one had been a gift from Lantos, a bit of an inside joke given the drug cartel their parents had ran with.

Long story, that. Japhra got away to university. Lantos… not so much. There’s a lingering sense of guilt there, no matter how much he tells her his choices aren’t her responsibility. They email regularly. Phone calls aren’t always the best option.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

What?

Japhra stands with a muffled, pained yelp. Pins and needles race up her legs, and she teeters on one foot before finding her balance. The coffee in her mug splashes precariously. “Ooohhh.”

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

She limps to the door.

“Hello, I’m a member of the local Chantry, and we’d like to extend the…”

As the man continues to speak, Japhra wraps both hands firmly around her mug. The near-blistering heat warms her fingers against the chill winter air. A memory niggles at the corner of her thoughts. She can’t place it until she catches sight of the scar bisecting the right side of the man’s upper lip.

“Oh! It’s you!” she exclaims suddenly. “Chantry Boy.”

“... Chant of—what?”

He blinks, clearly thrown off guard, and Japhra smiles widely. Oh, he’s a cute one. And those eyes! Warm like honey, a few shades darker than her own.

“Sorry, I’ve recently joined a Nug-worshipping cult. We celebrate and encourage the eventual rise of our quadruped overlords,” she quips cheerfully. “None of your Andrastian doctrine today, thank you! Nugs bless!”

The man makes a frustrated noise, not quite a growl, but more of a groan. “But I—”

She flutters the fingers of her left hand at him, and closes the door.

 

 

 

It’s early Saturday morning, exactly six days before her exam. Both Dorian and Bull spent the night elsewhere, and the house is silent except for Japhra’s gasping sobs.

She’s sitting in the dark corner of the landing on the stairs, blanket over her shoulders. Her arms are tight and hard around her ribs, and her forehead touches her knees. Her body shakes and she feels like she’s going to vomit.

This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have left home (no, she  _ should _ have left, and she  _ did). _ She’s going to fail (no, she  _ won’t, _ she’d have to get less than a D on the exam to fail the class). She’s going to end up in the same place she left Lantos (she  _ won’t, _ she won’t, Lantos wouldn’t let her, nor Dorian nor Bull nor Lace). Everything is going wrong (it  _ isn’t.) _ It is.

Japhra knows what’s happening, she knows she has to stop. She’s done this before, a panic attack. She just has to calm down.

Unsurprisingly, telling herself to calm down has little effect. She digs her fingernails into her palms. Maybe sitting in the dark was a bad thing. It felt nice at first, but it also made her think bad thoughts. Can’t have that, nope.

Her mouth is dry, and swallowing hurts. She gets to her feet with a quiet whimper, and takes the steps down to the first floor, hands trembling.

She’s okay. She’s okay.

Light. That’s the first thing.

She flips on the ceiling light, and pulls up the blinds. It’s dark outside, with pink and orange faintly threading the purple sky.

Someone could see into their house (it’s not even 9AM yet on a Saturday morning), someone who wanted her to go back into the Carta (it’s more important she be okay right  _ now, _ she can close the blinds once she’s better).

She’s halfway into making coffee when she decides that coffee jitters probably won’t help. She goes for a cold glass of water instead, but places a mug in the center of the tiny kitchen table. It’s the same green as Yoda’s skin, and in blocky white letters reads  _ Calm, you shall keep, and carry on, you must. Yes, hmmmm… _

She gulps down the water, and her head hurts slightly less. On shaky legs, she collapses into a chair, and pulls her blanket cape over her head so it becomes more of a hooded cloak.

“Help me, Mug Yoda,” she mumbles, and smiles.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

Her eyes flare wider than they have all morning, and she straightens up by an infinitesimal degree. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she begs.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

“Why?” she wails into her hands.

But Mug Yoda has strengthened her. She’ll meet Chantry Boy head-on today, nervous shakes be damned. Wielding her blanket like armor and clutching her glass of water tightly, she makes her way to the door and peeks through the peephole. It is in fact the blonde-haired, lip-scarred, honey-eyed man. He looks determined this time. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but he might even have  a copy of the Chant of Light in his hand.

Japhra thunks her forehead against the door. She  _ really _ doesn’t want to talk to him.

But it’s cold out, she’s at least got to give him something for his time (even if it’s a door in his face… Ancestors, she’s been a bitch).

She stands back, steadies herself, and throws open the door.

“Please, just take a—” Chantry Boy begins, but he stops, and takes a long look at her. She tenses. He freezes. She pulls her blanket tight. His eyes flicker down to her hands, her glass of water, and back up to her face. He can tell. Shit.

“Are you all right?” he asks slowly.

Japhra bites her lip. It’s the most awkward entreat she’s heard from him since the first encounter, and those times he usually sounds like he’s reading from a forced script... but now, his face is sincere and worried, not resigned.

Oh,  _ fuck _ it.

“I’m not. I’m really not,” she admits. Her voice wavers.

Chantry Boy’s cheeks redden, and he fumbles with what Japhra is now entirely certain is a copy of the Chant of Light. He attempts to hide it behind his back. Japhra feels her lips twitch into something that’s almost a smirk. “Oh. I thought… so. You’re not. I mean, there’s no mug. And you look terrible.”

Japhra coughs. Her shoulders hitch, and a sore spot on her ribs twinges.

“Not that you  _ look _ terrible,” Chantry Boy hastens to explain. “Maker’s breath, I am so sorry.”

She sighs. “It’s okay. I’m kind of having a rough morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Chantry Boy tells her earnestly, and he clearly means it. “You should go back inside. It’s cold out.”

Japhra smiles. It’s a quiet, fluttering, hesitant thing. “Mm. I hear it’s close to Wintersend.”

Chantry Boy peers at her. “... Yes.”

“Got a quota to fill with those things?”

She gestures at the Chant of Light.

“I may have lost a bet,” Chantry Boy admits.

Japhra snorts, and he looks pleased, and then embarrassed. He’s cute. “Oh?”

He glares at nothing in particular. “Against an asshole from Kirkwall.”

Japhra is definitely smiling now. “I know an asshole from Kirkwall.”

“There are at least eight,” Chantry Boy promises solemnly, and Japhra giggles.  


 

 

 

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

“It’s him again? Doesn’t he have anything better to do with his mornings?” Dorian complains. He’s sprawled over the couch, one arm dangling to the floor, the other thrown over his head dramatically.

Four days left. Monday morning. The only day of the week Dorian deigns to rise before dawn.

“He lost a bet with a Kirkwallian Asshole,” Japhra explains, and Dorian squints at her.

“Is that from Star Wars?” he hazards.

Japhra is still cackling when she opens the door.

 

 

 

8AM, Thursday. Thirty hours left.  _ Tick, tick, tick, _ goes the wall clock next to the microwave.

Today’s mug is  _ Cobalt, Fluorine, Iron. The only elements I need. _ Japhra has officially reached a state of removed calm. She is beyond emotion until her final is over.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

“Will you please just take the damn book? It’s my last one.”

“Kirkwallian Asshole’s really put you through the wringer, huh?”

_ “What?” _

“I can’t take your  _ very last _ copy, as I regret to inform you that I’m actually Maferath reborn.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to seek the Maker.”

“Uh, no. Pretty sure the Maker doesn’t want to see the face of Maferath reborn.”

“That’s fair... Andraste reborn, then?”

“Oh, Ancestors, no. Me? I’d make a shit Herald of Justice… or whatever it is you guys call her.”

“That’s actually a lot closer than I thought you’d get.”

“You sure know how to compliment a lady.”

“Well, I do try.”

Japhra manages not to let out a strangled “What the absolute  _ fuck?!”  _  until the door is firmly in place between her and Chantry Boy. She doesn’t notice the shrewd look Iron Bull gives her from the couch as he thumbs through the morning news.

 

 

 

Saturday morning, Japhra wakes feeling rested for the first time in three weeks. Sunlight filters through her blinds, and she rolls off her bed limply with a pleased groan. She has a mild headache, but it’s the good kind. Her trials are over. Winter break can finally begin.

She brushes her teeth and takes a shower, flatmates conspicuously absent from the second floor. She chooses her softest hoodie and warmest leggings to wear. As she starts down the stairs, however, Dorian rounds the corner, and all but throws himself in her path. He attempts to look casual, and fails entirely.

“... what?” Japhra says suspiciously.

“Come no further, my dear,” Dorian announces grandly. He blocks the narrow staircase with his body.

“Coffee,” she demands bluntly. Not that she would ever demand a bribe from a friend. It’s more of an  _ I’ll scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine _ scenario. Clearly.

He immediately holds out a cup of something steaming and bitter. “Here. Now stay up there.”

“Why? Aw, you chose my favorite mug.”

It’s not her favorite mug, but it is close. It’s got a Pac-Man maze on the front. The ghosts appear when the mug is hot, and fade when the mug is cool.

“Yes, yes, now back up the stairs.” Dorian prods her back to her room. “The Bull and I have business to attend to.”

“Are you two having sex?!”

Dorian splutters.

“I knew it! I called it!” Japhra bellows. Everything is bright and shiny this morning. She skips back to her room, unconcerned with whatever it is her friends are doing on this fine day.

“We are  _ not!” _ Dorian calls at her retreating back.

“He’s thought about it,” Bull shouts smugly from somewhere in the living room.

“I have  _ not!” _

 

 

 

She must be halfway through YouTube’s entire stock of cookie-baking tutorials when she realizes that if Chantry Boy showed up today, she overslept and missed him. The thought almost makes her sad.

Then she finds a video claiming to have “The Best Chocolate-Chip Orange Vanilla Monster Cookies You’ll Ever Eat”. Clearly, that takes precedence.

_ Clearly. _

 

 

 

The sound of thumping and muffled swearing is what finally lures her from her room once more. It’s a gamble, but they’re  _ probably _ not having loud, obnoxious sex while she’s still in the house. 

She pads soundlessly down the stairs, and as she rounds the corner onto the first floor, her mouth drops open.

There are string-lights everywhere, of every color. The dizzying smell of baked goods wafts from the kitchen. The floor has been cleared of snack bags and random bits of laundry and classwork. Things have been dusted and wiped down. The couch has been shifted to a different wall to open up more space, and Dorian is holding Bull’s palm up to his face with a disapproving scowl.

“... are  _ fine, _ you great lout. You didn’t even break the skin. Flex for me.... Your  _ hand, _ flex your hand. There. You see? Go ice that.”

Japhra giggles, and covers her mouth with her hands.

“Hey there, little Boss,” Bull greets her jubilantly. “You up for a party tonight?”

She bounds towards them, and wraps her arms around them both. “Yes,  _ please.” _

 

 

 

With the house flooded with music and people and various types of alcohol, the last of the tension knotting her shoulders finally begins to release. 

“Japhra!”

“Lace!”

Lace Harding is double-majoring in geography and veterinary studies. If anyone besides Japhra needs to get drunk tonight, it’s this woman. Japhra throws an arm around Lace’s waist in a partial hug.

“We’re done!” Japhra exults.

They clink bottles.

“So who’s the hot blonde with the scar?” Lace asks, dragging Japhra into a corner.

Japhra frowns. “What hot blonde with the scar?”

“The one Dorian invited!” Lace explains, raising her voice to be heard over the frankly embarrassing Rebecca Black pounding out of the speakers in the kitchen. “I’ve never seen him around, who is he?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Lace blinks. “That’s weird. Dorian said you knew him. He invited him this morning.”

“I…” Japhra begins, and then it hits her. “Oh, he  _ didn’t.” _

She swears every dwarven curse she knows. With each Paragon invoked, Lace’s eyebrows migrate higher and higher on her forehead.

Japhra sets down her beer and drags her hands over her face. “His name is Chantry Boy.”

Lace looks like she’s close to laughter. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“That’s not his  _ name!” _ Japhra protests. “It’s just what I call him. He tried to get me to take a copy of the Chant of Light, and then he told me I looked awful and we flirted with each other. He knows an asshole from Kirkwall!”

“We know plenty of those.”

“We know like two!” Japhra balks. “What do I do?”

Lace’s shoulders are hitching.

“Lace! Help me!”

And she’s gone, doubled over in helpless, ringing cackles. Krem pokes his head out of the kitchen curiously, and raises an eyebrow.

“What’d you do?” he asks around a mouthful of brownie.

 

 

 

Once she’s collected her wits, Japhra does find a cute, blonde-haired, lip-scarred, honey-eyed young man hovering near the townhouse’s old-fashioned radiator. He’s wearing a resigned but bemused expression, standing alone and looking very engrossed in an empty spot on the wall.

“Hey,” Japhra says, a little too loudly.

Chantry Boy jerks slightly, looks over, blinks, and looks  _ down. _

“Hello! It’s… quite loud in here, isn’t it?”

Japhra shrugs. “You party with the Iron Bull, you get the full experience. When did you get here?”

“I… ah, not too long ago. Though it was long enough for my friend to vanish upstairs with  _ your _ friend. The one with the moustache.”

He scratches the back of his neck with one hand, and it might be the string lights, but it even looks like he’s blushing.

“That’s Dorian,” Japhra snorts. “He’s fun.”

Then she realizes what that must sound like. “Not that I—and he—have ever... he’s just into guys,” she explains hastily. Looking for a way out, she continues to ramble. “Yeah. So, I don’t actually know your name.”

Her mind catches up with her mouth.

_ Why _ did she say that?

Chantry Boy chuckles. It’s a warm sound. “I don’t believe I ever introduced myself. Poor manners of me.” He smiles at her. “Cullen Rutherford.”

“I’m Japhra,” she answers. “I… uh, that day when I looked like shit. I should thank you.”

“I don’t see why. Insulting beautiful women is not something one usually gets thanked for.”

He looks surprised at himself, but pleased. Japhra’s stomach falls. She’s doing this now. Better to do it fast and get it over with. If he turns out to be a jerk, well, the sooner she knows the sooner she can forget about it. “You made me laugh when I was having a really, really bad morning,” is all she tells him. She takes a deep breath. Saying this next bit never really gets any easier. She reminds herself that Bull is in the next room and Lace and Krem are in the kitchen. They’ve got her back. “I’m asexual.”

“I knew that,” Cullen blurts. Then his eyes go wide, and his fingers tighten around his drink. “From the mug. The one about the dragons. It… the colors? Right? Oh, Maker, please tell me I haven’t put my foot in it. Again. For the thousandth bloody time this week.”

His face is so earnest. Japhra almost cries in relief. “Ace spectrum, yeah. Are you… uh…”

Cullen stiffens. “It’s complicated,” he says slowly. “I’d rather not go into it.”

“Okay,” Japhra says simply. She knows ghosts when she sees them, and winces when she realizes that Cullen has clearly started thinking about something distant and unpleasant. She touches his arm gently. “Hey.”

He focuses on her again. Embarrassment and a fair bit of frustration clouds his features. “I apologize.”

“It’s no problem,” Japhra promises, and gives him a wide, happy smile. She likes this one. She likes him a lot.

“Can I get you a brownie?” she asks him. “Or maybe a coffee?”

“You said that.” He looks so shocked for a moment that Japhra wonders if she’s misstepped.

“I… yeah?” she wonders cautiously.

His face clears, and he takes one last swallow of his drink. “I’d like both, if that’s not too much to ask. And some conversation to go with it?” He gives her a hopeful smirk.

Oh, she  _ really _ likes him.

“Come on, then,” she laughs. “Kitchen’s this way.”


End file.
